Merciful Darkness
by Pica Britanica
Summary: This is my own version of the end of TGG, I know there are a lot of these up here, but please read it. It will make me very happy. Sherlock Whumph, nothing too bad though, just a few bullet wounds.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: 'Sup. This is my first Sherlock fic, so be nice. Actually, be however you want, just review so I can get better, much thanks. As always, I don't own any of the characters in this, because I'm not that awesome. :(**

Sherlock felt himself fly backwards with the force of the bomb; he cracked his head on the side of the pool and slipped beneath the water. He didn't even have time to take a breath. As he plunged deeper and deeper into the water, he saw bits of debris crashing down around him. He panicked and attempted to swim towards the surface, it was then that he noticed another body diving into the water.

It was John.

John had dived into the water above him and was swimming at an amazing speed towards him. He felt John's arm snake around his waist and begin to haul him out of the water. They broke the surface and both took a hungry gulp of air. John swam over to the edge of the pool, dragging Sherlock behind him. The reached the edge and grabbed on to the tiling, Sherlock pulled himself up a little, looking at the chaos that he had created. He smiled in spite of himself. It was rather beautiful really.

He was about to drag himself out of the water when a gasp of surprise from John alerted his attention to the pair of feet in front of him, slowly Sherlock raised his gaze to meet the owner of the feet's eyes. Moriarty. "Nice try Sherlock, but you'll have to do better than that," he drawled.

Sherlock gave him a quick analysis; there was barely a cut on him from what Sherlock could see. "How the hell?" he muttered, he tried too pull himself further up, but Moriarty's hand around his throat stopped him in his tracks.

"Your little trick was rather a set back in my plans Sherlock, and you've caused me quite the injury." Sherlock glanced at his archenemy again, and noticed the stain of crimson on his shirt. And now he was closer, Sherlock could see the tiny cuts all over his face. Suddenly Moriarty shoved Sherlock back into the water, "Shoot them, kill them both," he ordered calmly, and walked away.

Sherlock flailed for a moment before dragging John beneath the water with him, in a desperate attempt to save them both from the bullets now raining down on them. Unfortunately Sherlock wasn't so quick to move himself from harm's way, as a bullet pierced his right shoulder, and another grazed his side as he dived beneath the water.

After what seemed like an age Sherlock could hold his breath no longer, he was about to swim to the surface when he saw John swim past him. He grabbed Sherlock's lapel and dragged him through the water and back to the surface. They broke through the water and spluttered, but Sherlock suddenly remembered the snipers and pulled John over to the overhang at the edge. They listened intently for a few moments, but no shots were fired, and the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

"Are they gone?" John whispered breathlessly.

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened again, "Yes, they're gone. Come on; let's get out of here before it's impossible." He hauled himself out of the pool and held out a hand for John, he gasped in pain and pulled his arm back against his side as the wound on his side stretched and throbbed.

John was instantly out of the pool and beside his friend, "Sherlock, what is it?" he asked, straight into doctor mode. His hands were a blur across Sherlock's chest, pulling away his sodden coat and assessing the damage. Sherlock hissed in pain. "Sorry," John murmured. He pulled Sherlock to his feet and pulled his arm over his own head. "Come on, let's go."

They were almost at the door when something above them cracked and crashed to the ground beside them; the force knocked the pair off their feet and sent Sherlock sprawling across the slippery pool side. He cried out in pain, and heard John call his name. "I'm fine," Sherlock called back weakly. He was surprised by how pathetic his voice sounded.

Somewhere in the distance there was the unmistakable whine of a police siren. Sherlock sighed and rested his head on the cool floor; he hoped this nightmare would be over soon. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, or at least, he thought it was for a moment.

He was woken by someone shaking him by the shoulders, "Sherlock. Sherlock wake up!" he recognised that voice, didn't he? "Sherlock, open your eyes." He complied with the order, and regretfully opened his eyes.

John visibly relaxed as Sherlock's eyes flickered open, but Sherlock knew there was something bothering him. "What, what?" Sherlock moaned as he tried to shake away the fog in his head. John frowned, hmm, that couldn't be good, Sherlock thought.

"Come on Sherlock, we need to get you out of here," John muttered as he hoisted Sherlock up and stumbled out of the pool, there was a cry as the pair emerged from the pool. People rushed towards them, and Sherlock heard people talking to him and John, asking them what happened. He thought he heard Lestrade's voice in the blurry mess of Sherlock's mind.

The pair was taken to the nearby ambulances and Sherlock was forced to lay on a stretcher to rest, Sherlock sighed and looked over past the flurry of people. Through the crowd Sherlock saw someone watching him, Moriarty. Sherlock tried to leap off the stretcher and chase after the villain, but as soon as he stood up he collapsed, and the final image that seared into Sherlock's mind before he succumbed to the darkness, the single image he saw every night in his dreams, was Moriarty lifting a finger to his lips. And then, mercifully, darkness.

**So, please review, think of it as a Christmas present for me, because that's when I'll be checking for them. :) Thank you.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Due to boredom and a very polite request I decided that a second chapter was needed for this story, so here you are. **

The first thing Sherlock noticed when he awoke some time later was the pain. His entire body throbbed with pain.

The next thing he noticed was that he wasn't in 221B Baker Street. The smell was different, it smelled of disinfectant, and the light was too harsh. After allowing himself a few moments to think about things, Sherlock came to the conclusion that he was in fact in hospital. Slowly he opened his eyes and heard a faint rustling to his right. He turned his head slightly to find the source of the noise, and was pleasantly surprised to see John sat asleep in the chair next to him.

"John," he croaked, his throat felt as though it were full of sand, "John."

His flatmate's eyes flew open and focused on Sherlock, "Sherlock, hey. How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, stretching in the chair.

"Awful." Sherlock stated, "What about you?"

"I'm fine; I got away lightly compared to you. What the hell were you thinking, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed and turned away, "I wasn't." He glanced at his friend, "I wasn't thinking at all." There were tears, real tears forming in Sherlock's eyes.

John smiled and patted his arm gently, "As long as you're safe, I don't really care what you were thinking," he said.

Sherlock gave a weak smile, but it soon faded when he remembered, "Moriarty got away." It wasn't a question, it was a fact.

John nodded, "Yeah, he did. The police will find him though Sherlock, you just have to trust them."

Sherlock laughed, a short, sharp humourless laugh, "No they won't, not until he wants them to."

"I was trying to cheer you up, idiot," John sighed, he shook his head, "I won't bother next time."

Sherlock frowned, how was that comment supposed to cheer him up? Human behaviour was so ridiculous.

They sat in silence for a while, John watching his friend intently, and Sherlock staring at the wall in front of him. Eventually Sherlock got bored, and threw the sheet off him in an attempt to get up; it was then that he noticed the handcuff. "John," he asked calmly, "Why am I handcuffed to this bed?"

John smiled, "It was Mycroft's idea, he didn't want you running off to catch Moriarty."

Sherlock turned and glowered at John, who kept that goofy smile plastered on his face, "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he asked.

"No…" John's smile widened to a grin, "Well, maybe only a little bit."

Sherlock huffed and turned back to staring at the wall, but something caught his eye above John's head, out in the corridor, "John, I'm hungry." Sherlock said, keeping his tone smooth.

John frowned, "Do you want me to get you a sandwich or something?"

"Yes… please."

John raised an eyebrow but said nothing; he picked up his wallet and wandered away down the corridor. Probably to the nearby canteen.

Sherlock watched silently as the doctor in the lab coat walked in and read his clipboard, "And how are we feeling today Sherlock?"

"What are you doing here, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.

"I just wanted to see how you were, Sherlock. I'm nice like that." Moriarty smiled, he walked to the right side of Sherlock's bed and closed the blind, "A bit more private, and much nicer," he drawled. Sherlock watched him, his jaw clamped shut. "Now then Sherlock," Moriarty said as he sat in John's seat, "What am I going to do with you?"

Sherlock grit his teeth and clenched his fist, he wasn't going to give this… psychopath the pleasure of seeing him in pain.

"Come along now Sherlock, surely you have something you want to say to me?" Moriarty goaded.

Sherlock took a deep breath and said, "Not really, I fear too much contact with you might lower my IQ." It was a cheap and inaccurate shot, but Sherlock really wasn't in the mood.

Moriarty sniffed, "Really Sherlock, I would have thought you were past childish taunts by now."

"Sorry, I just don't feel like being civil right now," Sherlock snarled.

Moriarty sighed and looked around the room, his focus zeroed in on the handcuff keeping Sherlock in bed, his eyes lit up. "Well, well, Sherlock. This is interesting," he smiled wickedly.

Sherlock kept his gaze level and cool, staring at this murderer silently, willing John to stay away until he'd gone. "What do you want Moriarty?" he asked calmly.

"You know exactly what I want, Sherlock." Moriarty whispered in Sherlock's ear, tugging a dark curl of his hair out of the way with a little too much force. Sherlock shuddered making Moriarty laugh, "I'm not that bad, Sherlock. Surely you know that." He pressed a hand against Sherlock's cheek, forcing him to look at him.

There was a click as the door was opened, and both men snapped their heads around to look at the intruder. John entered holding a sandwich up for Sherlock to see, "I got you a-"

He stopped dead at the sight of Moriarty holding his friend's cheek, and the horrified look on Sherlock's face. For a moment no-one spoke.

It was Moriarty who finally broke the uneasy silence, "Ah, John. How nice of you to join us, come in."

John swept across the room and punched the cocky little man square in the face, "Get your filthy hands off him!" he snarled, looming over the chair. His fist was clenched, ready to strike as soon as Moriarty made a move.

Moriarty chuckled, "I've said it before Sherlock, and I'll say it again, you have a very loyal pet. But you should teach it some manners really."

Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position, "Get the hell out of here, Moriarty," he growled, "I don't want to see you again."

Moriarty pulled himself up slowly, well aware of how tense John was, "Wrong," he sang, "Of course you want to see me again, and you will. Don't you fret," he moved to pat Sherlock's cheek, but was stopped by both John and Sherlock's arms, "you'll be seeing me again boys."

The pair watched as Moriarty dusted off his lab coat and waltzed out of the room; John ran outside after him and spoke hurriedly to the nurse at the desk. They spoke for a while before John came back into the room, "Sherlock?" he asked cautiously.

Sherlock said nothing, but stared at the wall in front of him.

"Sherlock, speak to me." John ordered.

Sherlock's eyes flashed with… pride? Pain? Panic? John couldn't tell. But then Sherlock let out something that was half sob, half laugh. John was at his side immediately.

"I can't believe you just punched Moriarty!" Sherlock muttered, a smile forming on his pale face.

"To be honest, neither can I," John laughed, sitting down in his chair again. The pair looked at each other for a moment, a gloriously sweet moment, before both burst into fits of giggles.

That is, until Sherlock realised laughing hurt, and hissed, grasping his side. John stopped laughing too and checked Sherlock over; making sure the wounds hadn't reopened.

It was at this moment that a man in a lab coat wandered past, glancing in on the duo as he left the hospital. He watched enviously as Sherlock smiled at the lighter haired man, and instantly a dark and sinister plan was forming in his wonderful mind.

**A/N: So there you have it. An ending that is happy… I'm so glad I took the time to change it. The ending before was a lot darker. Please review, it makes me happy. Meaning less dark endings. **


End file.
